


I'm The Monster

by boyofscissors



Series: How To Save A Dead Friend [3]
Category: Stranger Things - Fandom
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Multi, Social Anxiety, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-27 08:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12577848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyofscissors/pseuds/boyofscissors
Summary: What am I?Am I a murderer?Am I a bad-guy?Am I feared?I am.I am nothing but a murderer, a killer, a feared, nothing.





	I'm The Monster

_Killer._

_Murderer._

_Feared._

 

 

* * *

 

 

She never feels like she exists. She just knows she is somewhere.

Eleven had been sitting in pooling darkness for a year, not that she could count time anymore. She tried making contact with the real world, but couldn't brake through the brick wall keeping her from her friends, except on a couple occasions. 

She just sat....in the darkness surrounding her....never breaking to reveal anything but more darkness.

She tried talking, screaming, and whispering, but no noise seemed to break through.

_"She's our friend and she's crazy!...Three, one, five...see?....She's the monster!....My name's Mike...Short for Michael....Friends don't lie..."_

That always stuck with her.

_Friends don't lie._

Friends.

Don't.

Lie.

El thought that over, and over, over, over, until she could almost see Mike there, telling her that.

" _Friends don't lie....Friends....Don't....Lie......FRIENDS.....DON'T....LIE."_

She screamed on the very top of her lungs, but this time she could actually hear herself scream, like she existed. She finally felt something; she felt cold, and damp. Like she was in the bathtub, but colder, far more colder. She felt something that was cold and wet like water, but it seemed more compacted.

Eleven could start to see the darkness parting, revealing a sky clouded with gray smoke and white trees. She shot up awake and alert. She sat up and looked around; it was mid winter; snow all around, on the trees and on the ground. There was a wooden cabin near her, around fifty yards away, that had smoke puffing out of the chimney. 

Eleven tried to stand up, but her legs felt limp and just collapsed back down on the snow. Her legs felt weak and tired. Only just then, did she realized she was still wearing Nancy's dress and shoes, but they were so dirty and ruffed up that she barely recognized them. She felt her hair had grown out to a shaggy, chainsaw-cut, mop of hair that barely fell past her chin. She saw her hands where dirty and callused.

As she got up with the support of the trees around her, Eleven walked towards the cabin. It felt like a mile long walk to an unreachable destination. When she finally got there, she had to stumble-crawl up the steps on the deck of the cabin. When she tried the door, but is was locked. She had to focus on moving the lock and opening the door. She had focused so hard, she didn't realize her nose was bleeding until it dripped on the doorstep.

The cabin was simple; it wasn't carpeted except for in front of the fire place, the walls were occupied by a few pictures that hung lazily and carelessly, and the little light that eerily illuminated the cabin came from the old, dirty, chipped-base and ripped lamp-headed lamps that teetered on not-so-sturdy wooden stools.

The small home was charmingly small; you could see the most of the rooms just in the doorway. As El looked around the entry room, she noticed there were markings in the wooden walls. In her time in the Wheelers' basement, Eleven had learned a little bit of the Alphabet and to read, but not enough to know what the small, carved in characters translated to. To her left, Eleven could see several pairs of boots leaning on the wall. On the boots was snow, barely melted.

A fire burning, boots with slush still left on them, the markings on the wall.

Someone was here.

Someone who could send her back to the bad man.

El quickly whipped to face back to the door for a quick escape, but only to be faced-to-faced with a bearded old man.

He was an old, white bearded, pale-skinned man with a baseball cap covering his probably-bald head. He was bundled up in scarves and coats. One of his bare hands hugged many logs of wood, the other displaying an old oil lantern. El could smell ash on him.

The man stared down on the small Eleven in an expression she couldn't decipher. He stood so close, she feared he would knock her over just by breathing on her.

Then, after a few seconds of exchanging stares, the man walked past her and went and kneeled in front of the fireplace to tend to the fire. He put the chopped logs in the pile of a few other ones.

"Aren't you far from home?" he asked her.

"No." she replied sternly.

"Yes, ma'am." he teased her, "Guessin' you're a runaway, aren't you?"

"Runaway?"

"Ya know, someone who runs away from their family? Is that wha' you are?"

"Yes."

"So, father problems?"

"He is a bad man."

"Well, they can hurt ya, can't they?"

Eleven stood still; she could feel the heat from the fire, but she still shivered from her laying in the snow.

"Come, you're shiverin'. You been out there 'ow long?"

She said nothing, but instead ran over and sat next to the old man and in front of the fire place. She had never seen fire before, but it warmed her so nicely that she never wanted to leave its presence. She moved her hand and tried to grab the flame, but only to get her skin burned a bit. She recoiled and rubbed her hand.

"Al'ays there, bu' ne'er reachable, ain't it?" the old man patted her shoulder.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because it's fire. Like with museum exhibits, you touch it, you get hurt."

"Museums?"

"You don' know much do you?"

"No."

"Well, I'll keep you fo' a bit. None of the rooms are in good shape righ' now, so you can sleep on the couch fo' the time being. I got some clothes you can wear tomorrow."

"Thank you."

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me if you want the next chapter in a certain character's perspective.
> 
> Also, I am doing this instead of writing a paper on pollution, weather, and energy.


End file.
